


Sacrilege

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Because I Like Torturing My Favorite Hero, Best Friends, Feels, Fighting, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hugging, Love, Mentions of Cancer, The Cave Belongs to Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 16:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16601687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce has rules about the cave. Everyone follows those rules, until they don't. Clark decides that breaking the sanctity of the cave is worth the risk of Bruce's ire.





	Sacrilege

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one was not what I thought it would be. I started it wanting to just make it a good fight between my two favorite heroes and ended up with a ton of angst. Whoops. :/ So, sorry for the angst and for always hurting Bruce. I apparently want him to suffer immeasurably. LOL.  
> Also, it's possible that I may decide to add more chapters. Maybe. I dunno. 
> 
> I do not own the characters or DC. I do own the plot. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!

               The cave was the same temperature year-round. Damp and brackish, moisture clinging to every surface amidst craggy edges and spiraled stalactites. To the naked eye, it remained as stalwart and unchanging as ever. An ancient old man with many, many secrets.

                Though it was not without its drawbacks. It had taken years to perfect the regimented cleaning schedule which allowed the Bat’s headquarters to remain within its womb. The cave was an unforgiving environment. Its constant upkeep of the precious technology housed within was a never-ending battle.

                Still, there were too many benefits to remaining deep beneath the soil of Wayne manor. The privacy was unfounded. An unmapped cave allowed the concealment of large apparatus, such as the tumbler or the jet. The cave was as deep as it was wide, and it left ample space for extra rooms. Something of course, Bruce had taken advantage of. A med-bay, training room, and even a couple of bedrooms had all been added over the years. The armory had doubled in size as well.

                He did his best work in the cave.

                It wasn’t just the sound of thousands of gallons of water crashing over rock from the waterfall, or the endearing squeaks of the bats that called the cave home. It was the damp air that filled his lungs and tasted a bit like the air by Gotham bay. It was the chilly wet that ensconced him each time he activated the airlock and crept down the stairs that descended into a domain that often felt too fantastical to be real.

                Bruce had no pretenses or masks or faces to wear. There were no rules to his behavior that dictated how he was to act or respond. He wasn’t Bruce Wayne or Brucie or even the Batman this far underground. He was himself. A conglomerate of faces, with bits and pieces of each. Whoever that man was, that was who he became when he came down those stairs.

                So, it went without saying that the cave was sacred ground. It was where the Bat worked, and Bruce went to relax. It was a place of peace as much as it was a place to plan for war. But it was _his_.

                Yes, he had allowed others within. Alfred at first. Then Dick, Jason, Tim, and finally Damian. A few choice colleagues or very close friends, such as Clark or Diana. But it was still _his_. He could banish anyone from its depths with impunity if he so chose it. And he’d done it a handful of times. Sometimes just for the sake of having solitude, and occasionally because of something the Bat needed to do alone.

               They all knew how it worked. They all understood it because Bruce had been explicit each time he’d allowed someone new the opportunity to share it with him. Everyone understood the rules. Everyone followed the rules.

                Until now.

                Until this very moment.

                Bruce was standing nearest the falls, his back to the man who was pacing noisily over the metal walkway and he was struggling to calm himself. He was struggling to keep a chain on his anger because it wanted to snap. It wanted loose and Clark was making it way too easy.

                “Aren’t you even going to say anything?”

                Bruce’s shoulders tightened, the red-hot ball in his stomach burning brighter. He said nothing. He did nothing. It could only end badly if he did. Clark had been looking for a fight the moment he’d stormed into the cave. And regardless of being asked to leave, he hadn’t. He was breaking the rules now. No good could come from that. No good at all.

                “Bruce,” Clark went on, his voice dangerously close to a shout, “You at least owe me the courtesy of looking at me, when I’m talking. God, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

                Bruce blew out a careful breath, then silently acquiesced. They were past the point of a simple minor scuffle. There would be no point now in denying that this had gotten uglier than Bruce had ever expected it would. Clark was angry. And to some degree, Bruce understood why. He could even try and sympathize, though it rankled his sense of justice to do so.

                Bruce had done what he thought was right. And he’d do it again. And again. And again. He didn’t check in with Clark before he made life or death decisions or when he picked oatmeal over toast for breakfast. They were autonomous beings who lived separate lives in separate cities. They did not need to consult one another about everything they did, said, or would do.

                “Happy?” Bruce murmured, giving into the childish urge to offer a petulant dig as he levelled Clark with a cold stare.

                “No, I am not. I’m furious.”

                “I can see that.”

                “You should have talked to me about this. The fact that you don’t see that, makes me want to shake you till your teeth rattle.”

                Bruce pursed his lips, “Perhaps I should have made myself clearer, though I assumed you understood this after all these years—I don’t answer to you. I never have. And I never will.”

                “That isn’t—” Clark’s mouth flattened as his eyes sparkled with that anger he’d been trying not to froth over with. He was failing rapidly. “Bruce, you can’t expect people not to care about you. You can’t expect them not to say anything about this.”

                “I do.”

                “You—what about your kids? Didn’t you ask them what they thought? Didn’t you speak with them too?”

                “About what? My choices are mine. If I choose to not fight, then that’s my choice to make.”

                “That’s not a choice.”

                “Yes, it is,” Bruce turned again, suddenly too overwhelmed with the way Clark was looking at him to stare full-on. It was becoming difficult all of the sudden to get in a good breath. The dampness of the cave didn’t feel as good as it normally did in his lungs. It felt like trying to breathe in cream and he had to fight the urge to panic because of it. Slow, steady breaths should have combatted the feeling. They didn’t.

                Clark had been talking. But Bruce only realized it when he was being forcefully spun back around. Too warm, too strong of hands were on his shoulders squeezing. He’d have bruises in the shape of fingers on his skin. His eyes jerked up to Clark’s.

                “Get your hands off of me.”

                “It’s the only way I can get you to pay attention to me.”

                Bruce ground his teeth but refused to back down. “Get. Your hands. Off of me.”

                “Bruce—”

                He winced. And all at once, Clark’s hands dropped, and he stepped back like he’d been burned.

                “I’m sorry.”

                Bruce had to swallow several times to try and regulate his voice. He needed to remain in control. To keep calm. It wouldn’t do for both of them to lose their temper. But he was close, and he wanted to. He desperately wanted to.

                “I want you to leave.”

                The words fell like a blade between them. Cold and angry. Hurt. Clark’s expression wilted, his hands falling open from the fists at his sides.

                “Bruce, please. Talk to me. You can’t make this decision all on your own without talking to anyone. You can’t shut us all out. Please.”

                “It’s my choice.”

                “Yes, but—”

                “No,” Bruce snapped, suddenly far too aware of how the room was hazing over in a thin film of tears and he just couldn’t _breathe_ , “There is no but. There is nothing else to discuss. I spoke with the doctors. I heard all the information.”

                “Did you get second opinions?”

                “No.”

                “You didn’t want to hear them?”

                “No, that isn’t—No, Clark. Just, get out. I’m done talking.”

                They stared at one another for a long moment, both breathing hard, both saying a thousand things with their eyes. Clark was the first one to break the silence and when he did, his voice sounded wrecked.

                “How could you choose to give up? To leave us?”

                For one blistering heartbeat, Bruce could only stare. He was too stunned to move. Too angry or hurt or numb. He didn’t know. But when the feeling surged back into his fingers and toes, he was moving before he could make himself stop. He was acting and it wasn’t with all of his consent.

                Bruce strode right up to Clark and slapped him hard across the face. It stung his palm and fingers. It felt like he’d just about broke a bone in his wrist. But Clark’s expression was more than enough of a reward. Muted horror mixed with disbelief.  

                “How dare you?” Bruce choked out, fairly certain he wasn’t going to stroke out from the blood pounding in his ears and throat. But it felt like it. “How dare you say that to me? After everything. After all these years. How dare you?”

                “Bruce, I—”

                Bruce shook his head hard, “No. No, it’s my turn. You came barging in here. Into _my_ space, ready to do war and I let you yell at me for the last hour. I tried to keep calm and let you get it out of your system. But I’ve had enough. And it’s my turn. Do you hear me Clark?” Bruce was growling now, but Clark was blurry and just a blue and red blob of color, “Do you understand me?”

                “Yes.”

                “Good. Because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t know what I want yet. I haven’t decided. But you just assumed I’d already made a choice. And you know what? Even if I did decide not to fight, even if I decided to let the cancer run its course, because my odds are slim, and it’ll probably end that way anyways, it would be my choice. And it certainly wouldn’t be in any way, your place to say anything different. So, you can just go fuck yourself.”

                With that parting gift, he turned, and he left. He made it all the way up the cave stairs, slippery from the wet, despite the gritted non-slip strips Alfred had installed. He got through the entrance at the clock and out into the dining room before Clark stopped him.

                Bruce didn’t expect to break down and cry. He didn’t expect that having Clark grab him from behind in an awkward hug would make the final walls splinter and then fall around the carefully constructed house he’d built. But they did.

                He broke. He broke the way men do when the world gets too heavy and they’ve put off a good cry for too long. He broke the way he should have broken weeks ago when he’d been sitting on crinkly white paper and been told the prognosis wasn’t good. That he had metastatic colon cancer and that his chances of survival were only twelve percent.

                He’d not realized something was wrong until it was very wrong.

                “I’m so sorry Bruce,” Clark was whispering the words, over and over. Like it would make any of this better. Like it would erase what had happened and what would happen.

                “Stop,” Bruce pushed lightly at the arms encircling his waist and Clark let him go. “I need—” Bruce scrubbed both hands down his face, rubbing away the evidence of the fissures in his strength. “I need a minute.”

                “OK. I can go.”

                “No,” Bruce shook his head, “No, not that. I just—” he sucked in a short breath, “I haven’t talked to anyone. I haven’t discussed this with anyone. And I didn’t want—I don’t want—”

                Clark waited, expression carefully neutral, eyes dark.      

                “I don’t want to be alone.”

                “Bruce, you won’t be.”

                “No one was supposed to know yet. I didn’t want to tell anyone until I knew what I wanted. I still don’t know. I’m—it doesn’t look good. None of it does.”

                “I did the research.”

                “Then you know my chances are slim.”

                Clark nodded, “You’ve had worse chances and come out on top. You can do this,” he looked down, something like shame flooding his cheeks a deep shade of pink, “But only if you wanted to. I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t my place to say anything. I thought—I thought you’d already decided. I thought that was why you hadn’t said anything.”

                “What?” Bruce snorted, “You thought I was going to just let nature run its course and not even mention that I was going to die? Not even to my boys?”

                “Well—”

                “Jesus, Clark.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                “Stop apologizing. I’m not mad anymore.”

                “I know. Still, I fucked up.”

                Bruce inhaled softly, resisting the urge to fold his arms around his middle. It felt like he needed to hold his waist just to keep everything in. Just to keep himself together. “Yes, you did. But you’re forgiven.”

                Clark offered him a half-smile, reluctant but warm, “Even though I broke a sacred rule? Even though I wouldn’t leave the cave when you asked?”

                Bruce surprised them both by laughing. “Sacrilege or not, I forgive you.”

                “How’s your hand?”

                Bruce rolled his eyes, “Fine. I barely hit you.”

                Clark pursed his lips, “I beg to differ. I actually felt the force you put behind that,” he shrugged, “though I’m surprised you didn’t try and punch me. A bitch slap was a little more of a surprise.”

                “I was going for saving my knuckles.”

                “Smart move.”

                Bruce shook his head, “Let’s never do that again.”

                Clark nodded, breaking a few more rules by tugging Bruce back in for a hug that wasn’t exactly unwelcome. It was grounding to have Clark there. And even though Bruce had been hurt and angry by Clark’s assumptions and worse, his bombardment in the cave, Clark had asked the questions Bruce had. He’d brought things to light he’d not considered. He’d made him think, even though it hurt. He’d made him question and wonder.

                “Would you stay for dinner?”

                Clark tightened his hold on Bruce, crushing enough to make it harder to draw in breath, “Of course.”

                “And help me talk to the boys? To Alfred?”

                “Of course, Bruce,” he paused, and Bruce could feel Clark’s breath ruffling his hair, “Did you really ever consider not fighting?”

                “Yes.”

                “Bruce, pl—”

                Bruce gave a hard shove to get out of Clark’s hold, refusing to meet his eyes, “But we both know I can’t do that. We both know I have to.”

                “What?” Clark sounded like he’d swallowed a frog.

                “You heard me just fine Boy Scout,” Bruce looked up and shrugged both shoulders, “I’m going to fight.”


End file.
